Always the Observant One
by She's a Star
Summary: "Satine is acting different today. She just walked in grinning from ear to ear. Satine hardly ever smiles." One of the dancers observes Satine the night after she and Christian's first encounter.


Always The Observant One  
  
by She's a Star  
  
Disclaimer: Moulin Rouge belongs to Baz Luhrmann  
  
A/N: Okey dokey, I don't really have a character who's narrating this...just one of the  
can-can dancers. Not Nini, though...I doubt she'd be as sympathetic. I was thinking Baby  
Doll when I wrote it (I don't know why...she just popped into my head) but it could be  
any of them. Okey doke, I'll stop babbling now. Enjoy :) Happy holidays!  
  
~*~  
  
Satine is acting different today.  
She just walked in grinning from ear to ear. Satine hardly ever smiles. She's  
humming something...  
"How wonderful life is, now you're in the world."  
It's not one of the show songs.  
Even though it's barely eight o'clock in the morning, everyone's here and  
rehearsing. Tonight is the last night that the Moulin Rouge will be a mere dance hall, and  
Harold wants our final performance to be the most memorable.  
He doesn't seem to notice how strangely Satine is acting.  
She just walked past me and greeted me with a warm, "Good morning!"  
Satine never was a morning person.  
It's that writer.  
It's that writer, I'm sure of it.  
I knew he was one of Toulouse's writers even as she danced with him, thinking he  
was the Duke at last night's show. I overheard Toulouse talking about him.  
I didn't say anything.  
After all, I'm just a lowly can-can dancer. Just a mere peasant.  
Satine is the princess.  
No...the queen.  
I've heard the writer's quite talented. His story was so fabulous, the Duke invested  
right away.   
I don't like this Duke.  
I don't like the way he looks at Satine.  
He doesn't look at her like the other men do.  
The other men look at her with awe in their eyes, yes, and yearning, longing, but  
there is also a glint in there that gives away the fact that they know they will never be  
with her.  
The Duke's eyes are missing that.  
He frightens me.  
Satine's still singing, still smiling, and looking at the door expectantly.  
Waiting for him, I can tell. I heard Harold say that he was supposed to let him  
read the first scene of Spectacular, Spectacular today.  
I think...  
I think Satine is in love with this writer.  
Yesterday I went out for a breath of fresh air while Toulouse and the bohos and  
the other dancers celebrated, and I saw them.  
They were standing on top of the elephant, kissing, and even from where I stood I  
could feel the love between them.   
This wasn't just some infatuation.  
Satine never had infatuations.   
I always respected her for having the ability of being in control at all times.  
She's lost that now.  
The writer just walked in, and his face lit up at the very sight of her. You can tell  
he's using all his self restraint to keep walking evenly instead of running into her arms.  
This man loves her, that's for sure. No question about it.  
Satine is talking to Harold, and she gives the writer a wink as she catches his eye.  
The air changes as they look at each other.  
Nobody else seems to notice...I was always the observant one.   
Satine is a nice girl. You'd think that she would be narcissistic, cold-hearted.  
After all, every man wants her...I know that would certainly go to my head.  
And being cold-hearted seems a necessity...how do you prevent yourself from  
falling without blocking out the rest of the world?  
But Satine had managed.  
Until now.  
She's had a hard life, I know that much. She's been here longer than I have. When  
I came she was only fifteen, and already she was the Sparkling Diamond.  
She doesn't really socialize with the other dancers, but I know she's a good person.   
People would almost certainly laugh if I told them this.  
"A good person?" they'd scoff. "She's a whore!"  
But there's something almost...naive about Satine. The way she speaks to Marie of  
flying away, of becoming an actress.  
Now she has the opportunity.  
The Duke could make her a star.  
But she'd have to give herself to him.  
Forever.  
The writer-Christian, I think his name is-is telling Harold about a song he's  
already written for the production.  
"Splendid!" Harold says in his signature jovial manner. "Let's hear it, then!"  
Christian and Satine look at each other, then begin to sing together.  
"My gift is my song...and this one's for you."  
Their voices blend so beautifully.  
Why are the most splendid of loves forbidden?  
Romeo and Juliet.  
Guinevere and Lancelot.  
This writer and his courtesan.  
It's beautiful, what they have. Sweet, pure, heavenly. The most amazing  
relationship I've ever seen.  
To think they've only known one another for a day.  
Imagine if they had eternity.  
"I hope you don't mind...I hope you don't mind that I put down in words...how  
wonderful life is, now you're in the world."  
Satine deserves this. She deserves him. After all the hardships she's had to suffer  
through, she deserves to fall in love.  
They're still singing...  
Suddenly, Satine begins to cough. It's a horrible cough...it causes her whole body  
to shake.  
Christian's eyes immediately fill with concern. "Darli...Mademoiselle Satine, are  
you all right?"  
"Chickpea, are you ill?" Harold asks.  
Satine removes her hand from her mouth and hides it behind her back, then says  
weakly, "Yes, yes, I'm fine. Just feeling a bit under the weather. It...it's nothing."  
A single drop of blood falls from her smooth, frail hand to the glossy floor of the  
Moulin Rouge.  
No one else notices.  
I've always been the observant one. 


End file.
